


Slaves of Rome

by BluBoo0003 (BluBooThalassophile)



Series: Many Alternative Lives of JayRae... [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Drama & Romance, Multi, Slaves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluBooThalassophile/pseuds/BluBoo0003
Summary: A Jewish slave, a wild Celt no one could tame, and a chieftain’s son have all been put in the arena for the Glory of Rome. This is Rome, their laws, their power, and their world. To survive and escape will require wit, strength, and determination.





	Slaves of Rome

Jason stood there, his chest heaving, the blood sticky as it dried on his sweat soaked skin as his eyes flicked up to the stadium where he saw him. The green knowing eyes stared at him as the crowd roared around him as the Emperor stared down at him. The heat was merciless, the sand was burning hot beneath his feet, and the weapon rested heavily in his hand. The Emperor lifted his hand then, his thumb neutral which had the crowd silencing as everyone held a bated breath.

The thumb lifted upwards and the crowd roared, he saw her smile beside the Egyptian and the Emperor as he looked down at his feet before he was herded towards the exit of the arena. The weapon fell into the loose sand as he walked into the halls.

His life had not always been this.

He had once been respected, a member of one of the most respected families in Jerusalem. His father a wealthy merchant who’s trade empire had spanned around Mare Nostrum, with rich trade with the Egyptians and Romans. His father’s wives, one, Talia, was an Egyptian noble, the other was a freed slave from Hispania, Selina. He had many siblings, Richard, Timothy, Cass, Duke, Damian, Athanasia, Helena, Thomas, and Bruce, and it was because of them he had come here.

Ten years ago he had played in the fields with his younger siblings, an accident had lead to the death of a Roman General before the eyes of his own son and son’s family. The Roman’s had merely witnessed his family in the field near the horses, they had not witnessed the act which had lead to the horse trampling the general. Damian’s stone had missed it’s mark, startling the stallion when it hit the beast in the rump, and the herd followed the stallion. When the Romans had come, as the eldest man in the house at the time, Jason had taken the fall. Kal-El had come for his head, instead, at the threat of a Jewish revolt upon his death, he was sentenced to the hard labor of being a galley slave. That hadn’t killed him as Kal had hoped, so five years ago Kal-El had put Jason in the arena, and thus far, Jason was undefeated and now no death outside the arena would be permitted because his family still held massive power.

Now he was a gladiator, the best in Rome.

His eyes flicked around at the other slaves here. A Jewish Gladiator, the best in Rome, undefeated.

There was a ruckus which had him looking over as an ivory pale woman broke the ranks of the chains, her fury had her grabbing a knife as she slashed a guard’s throat, spinning around to use the body as a shield as she propped herself up under the deadman’s weight when the arrows were shot, the other slaves dove out of the way as she dropped the body, rolled, snarled. Her eyes were pale, icy blue as he threw her dagger and ran. Jason stepped back, stuck his foot out, catching foot, which had her sprawling into the hard dirt of the hall. She was on her back before he anticipated as she slammed her knee into his groin, gasping for breath he doubled over as stars exploded before his eyes. She caught his chin with her finger, tilting his head back, he tried to breathe, and she smiled before her elbow slammed into his cheek which had him crashing into the ground as the world decided to waver. He watched her flee, her black braids flying behind her as the guards chased after her.

That Celt! He groaned as he rolled onto his back, pushing himself up onto the wall.

* * *

 

She ran, grabbing the corner as she vaulted herself upwards, slamming her knee into one guard as she blocked another hit, spinning low as she hooked his knees then slammed another elbow into the guard. She gasped when she felt a slice on her side which had her staggering back, feeling blood seep from her wound then as she glared at the guard. The guard spun his sword in a large arch, and she held up her arms when something hit her knees and slammed her head into the wall causing her world to black out.

* * *

 

He glared at her as she was tossed onto floor, her wound crudely dressed, and her black hair was spilling over everywhere, the odd braids tangled about her face. Jason stared at the Celt.

“Fucking Celt,” a guard muttered. “Keeps trying to escape.”

Jason looked over at the woman who lay there limply.

“That was not very smart,” he said in latin. She tilted her head back a bit, glared at him dangerously then.

“Not even the gods could contain me,” she replied in slow, halted latin.

“You’re a Celt,” he said as he shifted to lean on the bars between them.

“I am what I am,” she replied tiredly.

He nodded then slowly reached over, her hand caught his wrist as her face contorted in an animalistic wildness. “Let me see that,” he ordered.

“Back off,” she growled.

“No, get up, get over here,” he ordered. Catching her wrist he yanked her to the bars, she grunted in pain then tried to fight him until he jabbed the wound which had her moaning as she curled in on her side.

“I’ve never seen a fighter like you,” he said. “Where are you from?”

“Nowhere,” she snarled.

“Jason,” he offered his name to her, and she looked up at him with suspicious eyes. “I’m a slave, Celt,” he smiled. “Jewish.”

“People of one God,” she said.

“Yes, Children of God,” he corrected.

“Raven,” she muttered as he pulled his smuggled flask of alcohol to start cleaning her wound. It was clean, she growled lowly as she muttered in a language he had never heard before. She was beautiful, he supposed, now that she wasn’t trying to kill him.

Curly black hair, blue eyes, ivory colored skin, and a slight figure with thick hips, thighs and curvy calves. She was strong, not like a woman from his home or the Greek princess who he serviced. This woman was not muscled from training or show. Everything about this Celt was carefully depicting a wild woman who survived; he stared at the other scars and the ink marring her skin in unRoman appearance. There was history here, history of people he didn’t know, but the intricate design was carefully thought out, beautifully mapped, and intriguing. She was unlike any Celt he had seen in the arena; most of them being brightly colored with sunny, silver, or bloody red hair.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because no one should suffer of cruelty,” he said.

“I am cruel,” she smiled weakly.

He said nothing.


End file.
